


A Lonely Tear

by 2W_NikiAngel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Barricade Day 2019, Canon Era, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, On The Barricade, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 20:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19117393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: Javert watched them carefully. He remembered the other one, standing beside him with a bottle when they built a barricade. He smelled like alcohol and tobacco. But what was more interesting to Javert was the fact that he always stood beside Enjolras — not by his side, but in tow, covering his back and always having a weapon ready whenever someone tried to hurt the leader.Published for Barricade Day 2019.[Český originální text/Czech original]





	A Lonely Tear

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to lunifs for beta-reading!

When the volleys resounded, he had been kneeling on the ground in a tavern for a long time with a rope around his neck. His eyes were closed and he yearned to quench his ongoing thirst for water. Several reflections of ammunition danced across him, his clothes and face stained with dirt. Even then, he hasn’t brought his head down and didn't try to get out of the rope that served as handcuffs around his wrists. He had no idea how many shots were fired, but he has heard a loud scream and few quarrels amongst the revolutionaries. Someone seemed to make a big mistake that cost the lives of two young men.

Then he didn't hear anything else.

The tavern door opened and he looked at the young man in the red jacket. 

“Inspector Javert, your allies came to see our barricade.” His voice sounded so delicate. When the inspector saw him for the first time, he reminded him of his first wife, who died by giving birth to a child they had together. He looked just as strong and as fragile — these two qualities, which seemed incompatible, were able to unite to create an aura that captivated everyone around him.

The young man walked up to him and knelt beside his old body. He looked at him as if it was their first meeting. From the moment he laid eyes on him, Javert could see it properly. He could see why everyone looked up to him — not only with convincing speeches, and not only with the sense of leadership, but also with a virgin face whose main features were the innocence and purity shown in his eyes. And also his scent — green apples, burnt wood, youth. 

“Still, before we kill you, I'll ask if you need anything.”

“Maybe water.” His voice was very coarse, almost as though his throat had been scratched by rocks. 

The young man got up and poured a glass of water. Then he knelt down in front of Javert and supported his chin with his fingers — his fingers were soft, but he could feel the folds of the clench of a gun; they were also very long and cold — and lifted his head a little higher. He put the cup to his mouth and Javert opened it. Slowly, he let his throat indulge in well-deserved relief, almost like a deliverance. 

The inspector knew how big of a mistake he had made, how easy this could have been to survive — all he had to do was to not continue holding the glass but to lift it up and make him choke on a small amount of water — but the student leader didn't seem even think of it. 

When Javert grunted in response to the emptiness of the glass, the leader slowly pulled it away from his mouth and set it aside. With a handkerchief pulled from his lapel, he wiped the corners of inspector’s mouth.

Their blue eyes met each other. Javert asked them questions, trying to find answers to why a group of young boys had gone off to an evident death. But instead of answering, the young man watched closely for every tiny shadow in his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on, what reason the police had to send in a spy. It should have been clear to him now, but he still naively thought they would fight bravely. This move that came from the police, it was weak and injudicious.

The young man said nothing and stood up. He took off his red coat and slung it over Javert's shoulders. 

“Why do you care for your prisoner?”

The young man straightened up and adjusted the black vest and tie that had been loosened during the fight. “I only want to fight with strong and valiant men. What credit will it bring me, the death of a sick and weak inspector?” 

He looked away and walked off. As he stood on the pub's porch, he turned to Javert. He didn't look at him for too long, maybe it was just a second in their tiny merry-go-round of lives as he turned back and left. Javert watched him and realized that by covering his shoulders — which gave him warmth —, the rope around his neck loosened.

When the rope was first tied, it was by a tall redhead in blue, and with aggression and roughness, he tightened the rope so hard that Javert could feel drops of blood running down his neck. It was only when he was blue in his face that they decided to loosen the rope, but made sure that it still had a tight grip on him that would force him to stay still. This made him unbelievably exhausted and feel as if he was losing his senses.

But at last, after hours of suffering that he has never experienced before, he could close his eyes and finally sit back. He could feel the wave of fatigue finally engulfing him, so much that he could fall asleep. All he had to do was remember the boys in front of the tavern — fighting, laughing, dreaming. So little was enough to delve into the dream world.

He was awakened by a strong gust of wind. When he opened his eyes, he spotted the coat of the young man laying on the ground. The wind did not directly touch him, and so it was only after every enormous blow did he shiver. His own body warmth was gone long ago, only the cold remained. He wanted to close his eyes again and fall asleep, but it was impossible.

“Enjolras—” Javert lifted his head, his eyes pointed towards the front of the tavern. The voice was close, and even though he wasn't the one to react to the call, the desperation in the young man's voice almost frightened him. “—Can I be with you for a moment?” 

Javert's eyes were wide open. He turned his gaze to the porch and looked outside. Just on the opposite side of the open door of the tavern, named Corinth, sat a young man, their leader, rubbing his hands, looking very worried and pensive, as if he was thinking about everything and nothing at the same time — and before him stood a slightly older, smaller, black-haired man, whose voice was so distressed and passionate at once.

“Surely,” Enjolras answered. He seemed almost uncertain of his answer, but he felt the need to have someone beside him. He had been alone for too long, after having moved away from his parents and often not visiting them, as they were ashamed of what he was doing and fighting for. There was no secret that the Enjolras family was close to the king. Other than that, he had only Courfeyrac and Combeferre. But they couldn't give him what he needed. Both were perfect companions, humorists and philosophers, but he needed someone to love him boundlessly and who would take care of him when he collapses and starts to cry. Someone who will hear him lament, knowing that behind his stone face is one of a small child who experiences the same emotions as everyone else. And now, there is such a man.

“Can I sit beside you?”

“You don't have to ask me about everything, Grantaire. Just do it,” whispered Enjolras, sounding irritated, despite not meaning to. It was just rare to have an opportunity to talk to the other man.

Grantaire, the young man with raven hair and farsighted blue eyes that glowed in the moonlight, sat down next to Enjolras.

They sat there, motionless, seeming like they were not breathing. Grantaire raised his head to the heavens and smiled. “Do you see them there?” Enjolras did not raise his gaze nor respond. “Pollux and Bellux. Our stars.”

The Gemini constellation had two sets of stars beside each other. Everyone can see Pollux, the Alpha, but it’s hard to notice the other one, simply called Castor, as it is behind the first set. Javert had been interested in astrology since he was a child, and he was surprised that someone else had knowledge on it. This constellation was tiny and even forgotten by so many people that it was as if it did not exist at all, despite both sets of stars existing for one another.

“Enjolras—” The blond finally looked at the raven-haired man. “—You know what I feel for you-” 

Javert watched them carefully. He remembered the other one, standing beside him with a bottle when they built a barricade. He smelled like alcohol and tobacco. But what was more interesting to Javert was the fact that he always stood beside Enjolras — not by his side, but in tow, covering his back and always having a weapon ready whenever someone tried to hurt the leader. Only, when Javert saw him, it was peculiar to him, how much the leader was important to Grantaire, who was overlooked nonetheless. Like he didn't exist. A personal satellite he didn't even see. 

“I don't want to lose you in a fight that is futile.”

“Fighting for our dream isn't futile, Grantaire.” Enjolras observed the older man's troubled expression. He couldn't even call him his friend — they never had a conversation longer than five sentences and usually, they had nothing to say to each other. But he couldn't keep him away. In a strange way, he liked the blind admiration the older man had for him.

“It's not our dream, but your suicide. I won't let you fall for such a thing. ” Grantaire knelt down and put his hands on the leader's shoulders. He straightened his back and looked into the leader’s eyes. “Let's give up. We will risk going to jail, but what’s three years in a dungeon than the rest of our youth being wasted and buried in dirt?”

Javert wanted to say something. It would be ten years, and Enjolras would certainly not get out of the dungeon so quickly. The police would be able to think of any pretext that would prolong his stay in prison until he went crazy in his cell. 

But Javert could not speak, could do nothing but watch them. They seemed so fragile, as if they were about to fall apart, both in a different way. Enjolras knew he was headed for his death, and Grantaire was suffering because of this. He sold his heart and soul to the leader, gave it to him and waited for him to take care of them. But he had no time to do so. He had so many other hearts and souls entrusted to him that Grantaire’s simply disappeared in the crowd.

“You could not understand. You never possessed the slightest interest in our dream,” Enjolras said, but his voice was different. His anger and sense of authority disappeared. It sounded like he wanted to cry instead. 

And Enjolras was also just a man — he was exhausted, feeling like he was at his limit, and knowing that he was leading his friends and innocent people to death killed him from the inside.  
But what good is it to sacrifice his life for the well-being of other people? Evidently, he would lose the lives of the poor who have already failed at life once. All he had to do was acknowledge the mistake, but Enjolras didn’t realize it soon enough. He thought he was doing everything for the good of all, but the more attacks there were, the more the wounded and the dead laid on the ground. The more he doubted it. The more he was being agonized by the fact that he had introduced people to this misery because of his own personal desires.

"Enjolras..." Grantaire muttered as he saw how destroyed the object of his interest looked. Enjolras put his hand to his right eye, covering half of his face. He twisted around in pain and weakness. “What is it?” He asked worriedly, stroking his shoulders, bending over to catch a glimpse of the blond’s glassy eyes.

“I'm not a prophet, I'm not a leader, I'm no one—” His voice broke and he closed his eyes. Tears spilled over his youthful and innocent face as he whispered with the remnants of his strength: “I wanted to be the Messiah for the new tomorrow and instead I became an executioner. Nothing but a true executioner who—” He couldn't finish his lament when Grantaire kissed him. His mind was flooded with thoughts of the unfamiliar pair of lips touching his. 

For the first time in his life, Grantaire’s lips tasted something other than food. But the taste of his lips, which had blazed Enjolras, couldn't be exchanged for anything he'd eaten in his life. Since he was an experienced lover, Enjolras thought Grantaire’s lips would be dry and worn, but they were soft, wet and tasted of chocolate mixed with something he couldn't identify. It was Grantaire, though. It was his true taste. And Enjolras had to force himself to close his eyes to stop staring at the stars that, like a burst of fireworks, spilled before him. Suddenly, Enjolras could only feel the other’s lips as well as the tangles in his head.

He forgot to breathe. He held his breath as if time had been stopped.

“Breathe, Enjolras…” Grantaire cooed to him, stroking his hair. The younger did what he had been told and took a deep breath. His heart pounded and he stared into Grantaire's eyes.

No, Grantaire would never use the moment's magic. He loved Enjolras more than himself. He just wanted to show him something he couldn't describe in words. After they gazed at each other for a while, the older man leaned forward again and kissed him, this time with more love. He began to nibble on his lips and seek an opening to the inside of his mouth. 

“Everyone—” Enjolras said. His voice was full of purity and shyness. 

Grantaire simply smiled, “—Is sleeping.”

“And the prisoner—” Javert closed his eyes quickly and tightly, almost as if he was trying to unsee something. But he heard the same answer from the black-haired and then no more conversation. He waited for a moment before deciding to open his eyes again and look to the front of the tavern's porch. The men weren't far from him, and thanks to the moon that illuminated the entire barricade, he could easily and meticulously describe how they looked.

Despite the weird feeling in his chest, which kept telling him that something was wrong, he couldn't take his eyes off of the two lovers. Enjolras looked like a child who had finally found himself in the arms of his lifesaver, who had rescued him from the dark and dense forest he had been wandering in for so many years. 

He clumsily tried to part his lips to the same rhythm as his beloved and held onto his shoulders. The other seemed to be in an utterly different world, completely absorbed in their kiss. He used his hands to familiarize himself with the younger’s body. Javert knew this was their first kiss.

He didn't like the fact that there was a sentiment around him that he couldn't identify. But he knew it. Maybe he just couldn't name it because he never felt it for himself. It was the sentiment of lust for love. Or it was of love. Javert frowned and blinked at the boys. Was it really love? He couldn't judge it just by fleeting kisses.

But both of them looked so beautiful.

Their touches, movements, kisses — none of it looked like they were driven by the physical act of excitement. No, there was real love in this, and the desire to be in each other’s arms. There is one wonderful thing about the human body: you can talk, lie, and look at others as if nothing is wrong, but the body tells everything. Javert could tell that, because the leader treated Grantaire as he did, the two men had never hugged, especially judging from the way the older of the pair nervously and tensely clung onto the leader. Up until this moment, Grantaire had been doing one thing: waiting and hoping that one day, the leader will acknowledge his feelings.

“Grantaire…” Enjolras whispered between their kiss, pulling away from him. He needed some air. His lungs were burning, his heart was pounding, and blood was rushing into his face.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, taking the leader's face into his hands. He forced the younger to look at him and murmured, “I love you.”

Javert was watching them with intrigue. Men should be strong and valiant. Nothing about the way Grantaire and Enjolras touched each other fit into the category of sheer masculinity. These two were completely different from that. Though they had muscles, rough facial features and masculine voices, they were different. Fragile, tender and dreamy. A mix of youth and pain crept out of them.

“Grantaire…” the younger whispered again, looking down. He had no idea what to say. Such words were too heavy for him. Love has always been a difficulty that he has tried to avoid. Even now.

“Don't say anything,” Grantaire told him with love in his voice, leaning against the barricade. He pulled Enjolras to his chest and hugged him. Enjolras returned the embrace immediately. It felt as though it were a normal thing, as if they were doing it for the hundredth time already.

“I'm afraid,” Enjolras said after a moment of silence, and nuzzled his nose into the other’s chest. “I'm afraid, Grantaire.”

“Me too, Enjolras. You don’t even know how much,” Grantaire answered, then pecked Enjolras's lips. “But I'm worried for your life. I don't want to lose you.”

Enjolras smiled at him, perhaps for the first time in his life, and took his hand in his and put it on his chest. “Do you hear my heart beating? I promise that it will not stop beating without you by my side.” It was like a silent oath, a pledge they both took. As if it was something that only the two of them could share. Grantaire leaned over and kissed Enjolras once more.

They kissed each other for a long time until Grantaire succumbed to fatigue and fell asleep on the barricade, still holding Enjolras. It was almost dawn, so Enjolras decided to break free from the embrace and let Grantaire sleep alone. 

Enjolras rose from his seat and looked into the tavern where his coat and the prisoner were. His blue eyes met Javert’s, which were full of questions. Enjolras realized he had seen them. He simply stared at the inspector for a moment until he brought his finger to his lips, signaling him to be silent. He closed the tavern door and the inspector could only hear the sound of his boots walking off into the distance.

Javert sat there alone for a long time until he felt a lonely tear flow down his face.

A tear for those whose love overcomes the laws of death.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com) and my awesome beta-reader [lunifs](http://www.lunifs.tumblr.com)


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